Westerner's Horse
by Renarion Arenimon
Summary: Tale a of a lone and forgotten Dunedain whose lost memory brought hope to others. But what of his hope? Find out in this short story.


Westerner's Horse

Fan Fiction

BY

Renarion Arenimon

(based on the trilogy "The Lord of the Rings")

Date written: February the 13th, year 2010

One and Only Chapter

There was once a man, a Dunedain who had long ago lost contact with the rest of his kind. For the last several years he had been travelling across Eriador, searching in vain for at least one of his former comrades. But a long time had passed since the Rangers rode those lands, and their memory was slowly fading away. The moments when his appearance reminded someone of them were one of his rare pleasures.

He didn't have much: just the clothes he wore and an old worn out cape, all gray like the fate that besieged him, a tired horse, a decent bow and but a dozen arrows on his back. From his belt hanged a well crafted knife - he had to sell his sword a long time ago, and that grieved him whenever he remembered. Chances treated him poorly and he rarely had more than a few silver in his purse.

And so one day he arrived to a small village whose name he didn't care to remember. He wasn't inclined to the thought of spending what little money he had left, but both he and his horse had to eat despite the bad hunting season. He rented a room for the night and put the horse in the stables. Before retiring for the night he personally made sure to feed him. The next morning was gray and unpromising. On top of everything he did not have enough to pay off the rent. The innkeeper was a kind man but relentless in his intention to see the debt through. The Ranger thought about it and finally recalled the only remaining object with which he could part - a small beautifully carved figurine of a prancing horse, made out of silver and the size of a man's fist. Very reluctantly he relinquished that last remaining memory and with heavy steps left the village, followed by whispers of passersby.

It was only by nightfall that day that the innkeeper had truly appreciated the skill with which the horse was made, while a special kind of curiosity and admiration was expressed by his eight years old daughter, so he gave it to her as a gift. Several days later a refugee convoy from the north was passing through the village. With fear there was talk of conflicts with goblins in the north of Arnor. So it happened that the little innkeeper's daughter together with her family watched the passing of the sad colon and at the end of the last wagon saw a boy, her pier, staring in the direction from which he came from. All of a sudden the girl broke free of her mother's hand and ran after him, managing to place in his hands her silver horse before anyone reacted. The wagon moved on without slowing down, and the surprised boy glanced at the horse first and then gave a long look to the small smiling face in the middle of the muddy road. The mother quickly embraced her daughter while father frowned in an attempt to comprehend that act, but he could think of nothing and soon forgot all about it.

Meanwhile many weeks had passed, and the convoy pitched camp somewhere in central Rohan, using the hospitality of a duke of the nearby town. Not at all unusual for a man of the Mark, the duke was a passionate rider and one day set out to ride. To his surprise, in the stables he found an unknown boy petting his horse. The duke approached the boy and calmed him, for he was frightened to see him so tall and dressed in expensive clothes. When asked if he liked horses, the boy replied positively. The duke contemplated and asked around about him, and having learned how he lost both his parents, decidedly took him in as the stableman's apprentice in hope that he would one day grow up to be a fine rider, and the boy was since then like a son to him.

Having reached the age of ten and having mastered by then the skill of riding very well, the boy gifted the duke with a sculpture of a silver horse out of gratitude. Even then he had a plan to, as soon as he grew up a bit, ride back north and find the little girl who gave him the horse and present her with a true noble horse from the Mark.

Some time later the duke received orders from the king to put an end to the wild men on the other side of the Gap of Rohan who have been regularly pillaging nearby villages. There he ran into a small colon of Lothlorien elves who were on their way to the Gray Havens when they were attacked by wilders. The duke helped drive them off. The beauty and gratitude of the elven lady that led them impressed him so much that he gave her the small silver horse as a gift, hoping that the elves will not forget Rohan when they arrive in the Western Lands. She promised him that and continued on her way, but only after she returned the favor with a pin shaped as a green leaf of Lorien.

After a while the elven colon entered east Harlindon. There they happened upon a strange sight - a lone Dunedain. Their lady was very interested in talking with him. The Ranger was obviously exhausted, physically and mentally, and that meeting did him good because it reminded him of the time when the Dunedain befriended the forest elves in the surroundings of Shire and beyond. Moved by his tale the lady ordered that he be given food and some gold, and also herself gifted him with a small pouch of solid content. After a few hours of mingling by the fire the elves said their farewells to the Ranger and pressed on towards the Gray Havens.

Not long after he unwrapped the lady's gift to his astonishment. It was a beautifully crafted silver figurine of a prancing horse.

"It appears the time has not yet come for us to part, friend."

He said, and having petted both his horses continued on his lonely path refreshed and with a new fire in his chest.


End file.
